Through Heaven's Eyes
by Alenor Peredhel
Summary: Sometimes things go wrong, things we could never forsee. But how is it, even when the grief never seems to end, that a light can shine?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Wish it was mine, but it isn't…unfortunately.

**Through Heaven's Eyes**

Prologue-

_If only I had been able to see this! If only I had seen it coming, I could have prevented it. But I had not, and for it, I will never forgive myself._

It was raining, and though the weather was as it always was in this small town of Forks, today it felt so much more potent, as if it was proclamation that the sun would never shine again. I felt like the darkness was closing about me, and though I did not need to breathe, I felt like I was suffocating.

I had to be careful, or I would break the glass window that I was currently peering through. I did not want to add that to Esme's grief. Too much, my mind whispered, and a sob clogged at my throat. Too much had happened, and I had not the heart to repeat even to myself. It was locked away now, in a vault that would never open, buried behind all the good things I could remember.

Desperately I wanted Jasper, his touch, and calming presence, but I was not selfish enough to call him down. It was not only his grief he was battling but everyone else's.

_If only I had seen it._

I bent my head and was startled when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It only proved that I was not paying attention. I did not want to look behind me, already feeling the presence of Carlisle. Neither of us wished to speak.

For a long moment we remained silent, staring out at the streaks of water draining down the pale panes of glass. They looked like tears, and it seemed the sky was crying for us, as we could not. But we could feel guilt and remorse, and above that, pain. No pain so physical was as damaging as the one clawing through me right now, this drowning sensation that I could not hide. While the memories were gone, this remained.

"Alice," Carlisle said after a moment, his deep yet soothing voice trembling through the quiet home.

I didn't want to turn to him, but his tone demanded it and slowly my feet moved, but I would not look into his eyes. I was trembling, and fisted my hands. "It was my fault."

"No it wasn't," Carlisle hushed me. He reached out, as if to swamp me in a hug, but I backed away until my back touched the window. He frowned gently. "Alice, not even you can see everything."

"I should have seen it!" I snapped, my voice straining under my grief. "Why didn't I even see part of it? An indication? A possibility? I was attuned to them…I should have! This is my fault!"

"Alice, Alice!" Carlisle exclaimed and this time he held me though I fought to be released, I wanted nothing but to be alone. "No one could have seen this happen."

"I could have." I whispered it in a voice so low, no one other then a vampire would have heard. "I could have."

Carlisle was silent for a long moment, as if he had realized his argument had backfired upon him. Then he drew me away and forced me to look in his eyes. "Not even you Alice," he said, his voice firm. "Sometimes Fate sets things before us, and no decision we can make will alter that."

"We could have tried!"

"Alice, please try to listen to what I am saying."

"She was my best friend and I abandoned her. He was my _brother_ and I left him too. How can you say I could have done _nothing!"_ I wrenched away from Carlisle and fled.

I didn't know where I was going, didn't hear doors slam behind me, or tree branches laden with water dip low in an attempt to scratch my face, but snap instead when I absently brushed them aside.

It wasn't until the grief encompassed me into a hold so tight that I could not break free that I tripped and was forced to notice my surroundings. I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, and clutched the dirt in my stained palms. I ached, my body trembling with a pain I could not feel. The locked memories rose from the vault they had been vanquished to, and an unrecognizable sound rose from my throat and choked its way past my lips.

And that is when I raised my head and realized where I was; though I could barely see, my vision was so clouded by the rain pouring down. Before me sat two headstones, polished, new, yet bent beneath the weight of the two that rested below. Too young to die and too loved to be forgotten, and a life that would never be lived. Flowers, damp and waterlogged, lay strewn beside the granite stones. Against my will, my eyes followed the letters engraved within.

_Isabella Marie Swan 1988-2007_

_Edward Mason Cullen 1988-2007_

_Gone but never forgotten, in our hearts will you always remain._

I screamed, throwing my head to the sky. I let myself fall back, until I was lying upon the ground. The rain touched my face and cried my tears, but I could not feel it.

I was numb.

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A/N: I know you all wanna kill me!! I understand!! But please give this a chance? I would appreciate it, and any comments you give me (even if they are all about you wanting to give me slow painful deaths). 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Wish it was mine, but it isn't…unfortunately.

A/N: Briefly I just want to say anything regarding Canada in this chapter reflects the views of my character and _not _me.

Secondly, I was also disappointed by the lack of support in the prologue. While I am writing this story for my own enjoyment, if I feel that no one is appreciating the story and the time that it takes to write it, I _will_ pull it down. So I would be grateful if a few of you who read this gave me a heads up on what you think, thank you. Also a thanks to _StephenieCullen_ (my apologies if I spelt that wrong) who reviewed on the last chapter.

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**Through Heaven's Eyes**

Chap1-Seventeen Years Later-

_Why do I even have to write this stupid thing? It's not like someone is going to come along fifty years from now and want to know who I am! I mean what's so great about me? Absolutely nothing, I am sure of it. _

Taking a steadying breath, I lifted the pen from the paper and stared at the angrily scrawled words. I sighed, pushing a few wisps of hair from my face and tapped my pen against the journal, wondering what I was supposed to write about.

"About your summer," my mother's voice whispered in my ear.

I nearly threw the pen away from me in disgust. It wasn't as if I was dropping off the face of the earth and she wouldn't be hearing from me ever again. Everything I was supposed to write would be related instantly to her ears only a few hours later, through an e-mail or a telephone conversation.

What possessed me, I wondered, eyeing the turbulent waves of the ocean and the relaxed flight of gulls as they coasted on the updrafts. They were silent today as the beach was deserted, due to unsafe swimming conditions and a storm brewing farther out

What possessed me, I wondered again, to leave France and come to this godforsaken spit of land known as Newfoundland? I can't even get a decent tan, my long-lost Uncle that I haven't seen in nearly fifteen years can't speak French worth a damn, even though the second language of Canada is supposed to be _French_ and I am stuck here until school starts.

I swore vehemently under my breath clutching my pen tightly in my fingers, coming to an abrupt conclusion. I held my journal out before me and, risking it to be torn away from my grasp and into the wind's greedy fingers wrote, _I, Caitlyn Bouchard, have officially deemed myself as insane. I _hate _Newfoundland and everything about Canada! I am not five years old, nor twelve, and have no idea _why _I have to write this stupid thing, and am currently wondering why I am sitting on this abandoned beach watching the storm roll in. Oh yes, that's right, _BECAUSE MY MOTHER TOLD ME TO COME HERE AND I CAN'T ARGUE AGAINST THE 'QUEEN OF THE KNOWN EARTH'!

My pen made deep gouge marks into the page as I vented out my frustrations. I had to admit, I was partially lying to myself, true my mother had made me go, but only because she was driving me nuts and I was driving her nuts. We had been close until a few years ago, before I had entered high school and things had changed. And changed they had. I was by no means the popular girl, the straight 'A' girl, the smart, the funny, the charming, the beautiful girl.

No, I was plain simple Caitlyn who spoke her mind not often enough, liked to melt into the paint on the walls and had a vicious temper that often scared people away before they realized that it was my attempt to protect myself from harm. Unfortunately, by the time anyone realized this, they were too far gone to swim back and beg my forgiveness. And it was my temper that had caused the fallout between my mom and me, for reasons I would rather not get into.

I gasped as my notebook suddenly tugged at my hand, and realized, as a shock of pain trailed down my fingers, that it had been doing so for the past several seconds. In my surprise and pain, my fingers loosened their grip. Stupid paper! Instantly I realized my mistake as the journal fluttered from my fingers and began to run, honestly it looked like it was gracefully running from me and my furious words, down the beach.

Leaping to my feet, I shoved my forefinger into my mouth, sucking on the wound and glared at the book. With a muffled curse I realized that even if I didn't retrieve the notebook I would just have to buy another one and start all over. That was another week's worth of memories that I would have to dredge up from the pit I had been burying them in.

I wasn't lying, I hated Newfoundland. I was used to Paris, sunny sky, the rumble of cars, the shouts of tourists and arguing couples. Not this backwater community where the sun practically never shone and the town could fit in Paris and be completely lost.

"Damn it!" I snarled, and then took after the book, realizing that once again my mind had caught up to me and snared my attention from what I was really supposed to be concentrating on.

By now though I could barely seeing the elusive journal as it continued to flutter away, but I stubbornly refused to give up. _I was not recopying anything into a new book_. My hair slapped at my face, my bare feet pounded on the hardened wet sand and slipped on patches where the ground was ever changing like the tide. My hands were soon stinging and I was nearly out of breath when I finally caught up.

I reached out to catch it, when my foot connected with a piece of driftwood that had been previously hidden underneath the sand. With an ungraceful cry I tumbled forward, my hands coming out a little late to save me, and my mouth opening in time to inhale sand.

Breathing heavily, I spat the sand out, and crawled to my knees, shaking my head and cursing heavily. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"You know, the beach _is_ closed today."

Stupid….crap! My eyes, on their own accord, drifted upward, past the sandaled feet that were nearly touching my nose and into the green-eyed gaze of an amused youth. Spitting out another mouthful of sand, I glared. "I'm not swimming you know!"

"No?" his eyebrows rose and he glanced down at me. "I wouldn't have realized, after all, that has to be the reason why you're so gracefully diving into the sand."

I could feel my temper bubbling up, but for some reason I could not fathom, reined it in at the last moment. I stared into the boy's eyes and at his sun-bleached hair as he desperately tried not to laugh.

"Look," I muttered, getting slowly to my feet when I realized he wasn't going to help me. "I'm sorry, I'll get off your beach."

"It's not my beach," he said, laughter escaping. "Are you alright?"

I glanced down at my shredded knees and red palms. "Yeah, I'll be alright."

The boy nodded, and then held something out. "This yours?" He questioned…and paused as he flicked through the scarcely written pages, looking for a name. He pretended to ignore my widening eyes and furious expression. "Ah, Caitlyn Bouchard. Tu est francais?"

"Oui!" I snapped and dived for the book. I managed to trip though and would have landed in a graceful sprawl, had the boy not been conveniently placed.

"Well," he said after a moment, when neither of us had moved. "You sure are taking this fast. I haven't even told you my name yet."

"Hey! Excusé moi?" I demanded, leaping backward, and glaring up at him. I only reached his shoulder, I realized with chagrin.

The boy's smile grew and he tucked the journal under his arm and turned his attention to the horizon. "Andrew Dale," he said absently. "So Caitlyn, did you bring shoes?"

I looked behind me. "Ya," I muttered. "Somewhere back there."

"Then we'll get them tomorrow," Andrew said. He reached out and grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the parking lot.

"Now wait just a second!" I shouted futilely trying to pull back. It was no use, he was stronger then he looked. "Where am I going? My Uncle will flip."

"I have a car," Andrew replied over his shoulder. When I stared at him blankly he pulled me closer to his side. "You know…a…uh…un _voiture_."

"I know what a car is!" I snarled. "I can get home by myself."

"Did you walk here?"

"Maybe."

"Then I'm driving you because the storm is coming in, and I'd rather not have you in the obituary column. I hear lightning likes French girls."

I didn't know whether to appalled, angered, or just amused. My friend Julia would have been jumping at the experience, and no doubt she would have been trying to subtly -though I doubted she would be able to find the word in the dictionary- flirt with him. Fortunately, I wasn't as desperate as she was.

But there was something, something I couldn't understand, yet tugged at me with an insistence that I could not ignore. Something that whispered, _I should know this boy,_ even though he was not familiar. Behind me I heard a roll of thunder, and worriedly I looked over my shoulder, biting my lip. I found my eyes straying toward Andrew, as if for comfort though I did not know why. He, on the other hand, looked confident, at ease, and I felt myself relaxing and smiling. My first genuine smile since I had come to Newfoundland.

I could easily spot Andrew's vehicle, as it was the only one there. It was a faded green pickup with massive dents in the front, and the tailgate hung lazily open.

"Don't ask," he muttered dryly, as he hurried me across the asphalt as the first few drops splattered onto the ground.

I couldn't help but feel relieved for my stroke of luck as I dove into the passenger side of the truck. My Uncle was going to have a fit about me taking a ride with a stranger, and no doubt it would pass to my mother and she and I would get into another fight. Oddly enough, it did not worry me, I felt completely safe, even as a streak of lightning lit the sky and Andrew jumped into the driver's side. He was already soaked.

"Sorry." He grinned a little sheepishly. "I'm afraid it got a little wet." He tossed the journal onto the seat between us.

I stared at it blankly, and then wondered why I had gone after the stupid thing in the first place. "I should have just left it on the beach."

He laughed, and put the truck in reverse. "We'll stop by my place first."

My eyes shot up. "Your place?" I choked. "What do you mean 'your place.'?"

"Would you rather the clinic?" he asked mildly. When he saw my horrified expression, he continued to explain the reason for going to his place, fighting a smirk that was threatening to show. "My mother is a nurse, our house is stocked top to bottom with medicine, I'll be able to clean you up enough so you'll be presentable when you get home." His mischievous and bright eyes fixed on me. "Unless you don't want to go with a stranger?"

"No, it's alright," I murmured, slouching down in my seat. "I best not go to my Uncle's like this, he'll die of a heart attack, especially when he hears I was on the beach."

"Good thinking, best not tell him about _that_," Andrew laughed. "Am I right in thinking Caitlyn that your Uncle is the one and only cranky, pigheaded, law-breaking, Gerard?"

I blushed and nodded my head a little. I twisted my hands nervously. "You can let me out now if you want."

Andrew threw back his head, laughing. "No!"

I sighed in relief and turned to watch the _swish _of the windshield wipers. Noticing what I was doing with my hands I quickly unclasped them and watched the lightning spear the sky.

There had been silence for no more then a minute when Andrew spoke, his voice quiet and unsure, the first I had heard the absence of the quirky confident and teasing tone.

"Caitlyn, this may sound weird…and even corny, but have we met before?"

I stopped breathing, my eyes shooting up to meet his. I had just been thinking the same thing.

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_Me again. I hope no one was confused by the lack of explanation in this chapter between the two characters. I just want to see how many people can figure it out, if you don't understand, let me know and I will explain...also a thanks to my Beta Rebell!! _


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own anyone in this story. Wish I did, but I don't

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Through Heaven's Eyes

Chapter 2-Andrew's House-

When I saw Andrew's house I can honestly admit that I nearly fell to my knees in order to worship it, and undoubtedly I would have done so and made a fool of myself, had Andrew not caught my elbow and started dragging me along, his face closed. My heart stuttered as I knew that I was the reason for the unhappy look.

Quickly I turned my attention back to the house before me. It was no mansion, nor even a large house, but rather one of those two-bedroom affairs. From the looks of things it had also been built many years before, and the wooden shutters swung wide to admit peeking glimpses of the rooms inside, had a dull sheen to them though they were painted a merry yellow. Despite its size and age the house seemed to emit a gentle peaceful aura that soothed me and made me feel welcome.

However it was not this feeling that was entirely the reason I was about to succumb to my knees, it was the _cleanliness_. The flowerbeds lining the walk were properly weeded and placed in symmetrical beds, tidy without stuffiness. There was nothing out of place and no paint was peeling off the walls. It was a far cry from my Uncle's home where the shutters were falling off and a weed whacker (it was the newest addition to my vocabulary since I had come to Canada) wouldn't even be able to clean up the mess. Inside was worse, and I shied away from the thoughts with a very noticeable shudder. I had given up trying to clean the place on my third day in, and had instead turned to being away as long as possible.

It was at this moment that I realized my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were bulging. I had also stopped walking, and no doubt had a glazed look on my face. Andrew was tugging on my arm, an amused smirk on his face.

Feeling my face flush, I pulled back on my arm. It was a relief to see a smile on his face, I was sure I wouldn't be seeing it again after my blunder in the truck. Hurriedly I shoved that thought into the back of my mind.

"Not a word," I grumbled and then marched toward the door with as much dignity as remained to me. It wasn't much, I was sure of it. First I had completed a most ungraceful nose dive in front of him, then tripped and landed against him and _now_ this.

When I came to the door, I paused, and crossed my arms, lifting my chin haughtily. _Deal with that_, my mind snarled rebelliously.

Behind me he laughed, a drawn out sound that was unsuccessfully being muffled. "It's not locked."

The humiliation! I was glad he wasn't looking at me, I would have died. I wasn't so sure about his good mood anymore, and was almost wishing for the silence, not that I had ever been a girl comfortable with it. After all, I had lived in Paris.

"Well aren't you a fine gentlemen?" I remarked sarcastically, and didn't move.

"Caitlyn, _pardon, __mais tu est drôle! Ouvrez les porte, mademoiselle un détresse_. » " Excusée moi!" I exclaimed, turning on my heel, eyes flashing. My gaze only burned empty walkway: Andrew had brushed by me, his laughter loud enough that I am sure the next town over had heard it.

Turning quickly about, I hurried after him into the house, taking little time to realize I had stepped into a quaint old-fashioned looking kitchen. I barely remembered to shut the door and when I did, I swore I heard the house shaking. My temper, the evil monster inside me wasn't staying quiet any longer. The accusation on the doorstep had hurt, and I was appalled to realize I was almost in tears.

"Excuse me!" I exclaimed again, remembering just in time not to speak French. I scraped my feet off on the rug before the door and glanced around me, my eyes only for Andrew.

He turned to look at me, his lips back in the straight unmoving line. "Why do you do that Caitlyn?" he asked, his voice pained.

"What?" I asked, rocking back on my heels.

"Keep hurting my ears like that," he continued, turning his back to me. "And that temper! It's horrendous. I was just kidding."

My mouth gaped open and with a vicious struggle I closed it. Refusing to give him an answer, I looked around and for the first time realized my surroundings. I was in the kitchen.

Before me the counter extended, nearly touching the wall that was a part of the entrance way. Between them was a narrow walk that ended in a cheery living room that was nearly all windows and pictures. I looked away from it, not wanting to intrude upon a family I had no intentions of seeing after today.

The dining table was set in the exact centre, or as near as I could tell, of the kitchen area. It was an old round thing, and slightly lopsided. Three chairs sat around it, one almost missing its entire back, the other with a leg that did not seem to match. Off to the right was a patio door, that led into the side yard and part of the porch that I had seen out front. In front was the sink, framed by a set of windows decorated with wind chimes, rocks, and children's art. The counter encompassed two walls of the area, and the fridge was humming away beside me.

"Caitlyn."

My eyes turned to Andrew and saw him waving to a chair he had pulled out. That frustrating smile was back, and I had no choice but to look away or remind myself of the niggling voice in the back of my head. I hurried to the chair, and took a seat.

"I am glad the storm blew over so fast," I said, struggling for conversation. I clasped my hands before me and winced when Andrew knelt to my height. He was holding a bottle and I eyed it distrustfully.

"They usually do," he said. "Another one will come in a bit and then leave again. It will keep circling like that for a few hours before the fog settles back. Though we may even get some sun today."

I nodded, bending my head down. I noticed my hands were twisting together again, and hoped he didn't realize it as a sign of my nervousness. "Sorry."

In the process of tipping the bottle over a cotton swab he paused and stared at me, though he could not see much, my face was clouded from the hair that had fallen from the bun I had put it in earlier.

"What for?"

I sighed. "I am not good with these...sorts of things. You know?"

"Take your time," he offered, setting the bottle down.

I watched him anxiously, eyeing the bleeding cuts on my knees. When the wet swab touched the afflicted area I yelped, jumping back. Faster then I thought possible Andrew reached up and gripped my shoulder.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," he muttered. His smile ruined the apology.

Swearing, I swatted at his shoulder. "No more! I'm fine."

"It will get infected," he said, tugging my hand away as I went to protect myself. "Just sit still _mademoiselle un détresse_. »

I was almost instantly furious when I heard him speak. My hands leapt from the wounds, and instantly I realized my mistake as the swab came down. I hissed, squirming, but unable to flee, as Andrew settled his hand on my leg and gripped it. It was almost painful, and I am sure he realized it, and would not have held so tightly if he had been confident I would have stayed put. And granted, I would have been out of the house faster then he could blink, clean or not.

It was almost disconcerting the way he seemed to know me so well, and understood things that took people too long to understand. I shivered and then yelped as he applied the swab again. He held me a little tighter.

After a few minutes, in which I could not remain silent in my pain (I was a wimp when it came to anything that existed next to the word _ouch_), Andrew spoke up.

"Why don't you tell me what you were sorry for?"

Scrunching my face up, I refused to look down. "For acting stupid in the truck and acting stupid when you were teasing me."

"The truck we will never speak of again, I understand what I said I was corny, atrociously so, and that's my fault. As for the _mademoiselle un détresse _that is something we have to speak about. You should not let things like that get to you."

I curled my nose in revulsion, cautiously opening one eye and shutting it just as fast when I caught Andrew looking at me. "I don't like when people say things like that about me. I'm having a bad week! I don't need this."

"Maybe you don't," he said softly. "But you're gonna get a bigger hurt then that one day. You've never lived in a community where everyone knows everyone and everything, have you?"

I shook my head. Unconsciously, I put my hand on Andrew's. I _really_ needed some comfort right now. I felt like I could cry all of a sudden, and I hated crying. It made me feel weak and stupid, not to mention like a big fool. I certainly did not want to cry in front of someone I had just met, but the desire was almost overpowering. I had been thrown into a new country, in a place I didn't remember visiting and in which I knew no one. It did not help matters either when my Uncle created most of the town's ghost stories even though he was very much alive.

"Shhh there, Caitlyn, my _mademoiselle un détresse_."

I hiccuped and looked up as Andrew's arms closed around me. I found myself smiling a watery smile as he brushed the loose wisps of hair from my face. Tears were leaking down my face. "Am I all fixed up?"

"Good as new," Andrew smiled. He didn't let go of me though, and his eyes searched mine. "Are you alright Caitlyn?"

I hiccuped again and nodded slowly. "I'm just tired and overwrought." I paused, as I hiccuped again. "I should go then."

Andrew backed away from me, standing and picking up the loose odds and ends that he had left scattered on the hardwood floor. "I guess."

Slowly I got to my feet, scrubbing my face and glad that I had foregone mascara today. It would have been a disaster. My feet dragged on my way to the door, and scraggly bits of my black hair, highlighted red, hung in my face, obscuring my vision. I didn't have the heart to push it away.

I was at the door when I heard Andrew's voice.

"Caitlyn, are you alright going home in your bare feet?"

I had forgotten, I realized, staring at my dirty feet. I doubted I would get my sandals back again, and regretted it remembering how much they had cost. "I'm fine." I tried to keep my voice steady but I betrayed myself by hiccuping again.

The door handle was in my grasp and yet I felt an overpowering reluctance when I pushed it open. It was almost as if I was waiting for Andrew's voice to call me back, and I knew I was waiting for an excuse to stay.

But no voice stopped me and I made my way down the walkway, my head bent and my feet shuffling. I was also still hiccuping and my ribs were beginning to hurt.

My feet had just touched the pavement of the sidewalk when I heard a door slam behind me. Startled I turned to see Andrew running toward me. I stepped back a pace, fearful that he may run into me.

He stopped though, breathing heavily although the distance had not been far. "Caitlyn," he gasped. His hand reached out and took mine. He held it desperately as if afraid that I would run away. "I would like to see you again."

My eyes lifted, and I could feel a bubble of joy inside me. A smile played on my lips. "You're not afraid of temperamental me? Not afraid that my Uncle Gerard will shoot you with his shotgun?"

Andrew winced and chose to ignore what I had said. "Tomorrow?"

"What time?" The words were coming out before I had time to stop them, or time to think about it. I couldn't help but notice that his hand felt warm and comfortable in mine. I didn't want to pull it away.

"It's a surprise." His eyes twinkled. "Just look for me sometime during the day."

"Alright," I murmured, as he released my hand and backed away from me.

"Tomorrow, my _mademoiselle un détresse."_

I hiccuped, my face shining as he began toward the door. I was seeing him again. It was with a lighter heart that I turned down the sidewalk, thinking to myself, _maybe Newfoundland isn't so bad after all_.

The next day, he took me to see the sunset over the Atlantic. It was the beginning of our future.

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**A/N:** No! This is not the end! There is still an epilogue that I need to post. However if anyone feels I sped things along too fast and that I am missing important pieces feel free to let me know and I will think of putting in some more chapters. (Ideas would be appreciated.) As for the French in the story, Andrew is calling Caitlyn his "young lady in distress". Or close enough. Thanks for reading. 


	4. Chapter 4

Through Heaven's Eyes

Through Heaven's Eyes-Epilogue

Summer passed quickly. Far more quickly then I wished...or wanted. Sure enough in the beginning I thought it would be the torture event of my life, but now, now I wasn't so sure. It wasn't even that. 'Not sure' was such a broad word, it was more of a certainty. Going back to France was going to be painful.

I had tried, had fought tooth and nail, and screamed so loud that Andrew's parents had come running, wondering what was wrong, to get my last few years of high school done here. But if there was one thing about Andrew I had noticed, it was that he was stubborn. A bulldozer, (another addition to my dictionary) wouldn't have been able to move him once he made up his mind.

Eventually I forgave him. It was just too hard to be mad at him, especially when he braved my Uncle Gerard and the loaded shotgun. (He was in the hospital with an injured foot after that excursion, and although everyone _knew_ it was Gerard, nothing happened as a repercussion. Andrew laughed it off. ) Needless to say he never came back to the house...at least not without his makeshift defense weapon. An old pot lid that would do nothing if my Uncle decided to take aim, but it made me laugh every time so it was worth it. There was no way I could be mad with him then.

As with any couple we argued off and on, but nothing was ever too serious, and without remedy. Occasionally the topic of my staying was broached, with little hope, but I tried nonetheless. Andrew knew how painful this would be for both of us, and though he would not relent, he helped the pain. He promised to come down to visit, although when, he would never say. No amount of bribing, pleading or downright begging would make him give it up. He just laughed and called me his '_mademoiselle un détresse.'_. I had become accustomed to the nickname. It no longer bothered me when he said it...and though it drew attention from those locals who spoke French, we simply ignored it.

But back to the main point of concern. The summer was closing and I only had three more days left with Andrew. He told me not to think about it. But it was so difficult, especially when the weather was so suiting to my mood. Even this, he could not lighten, as he was just as burdened as me, though he tried not to show it. I almost wish he would show his thoughts, and then maybe I could finally convince him to let me stay.

Our time together this day had been interrupted though. I had been leaving the house when my Uncle had thrust a grimy piece of paper in my hand and told me to pick a few things up in the grocery store. I hissed and spat at it all the way there...with Andrew's truck going a meager fifty-five miles down the road. The truck couldn't go any faster. It was the fault, he said, of the cows that had blocked the road causing his father to veer off and crash the truck. He said this with a straight face, but it was hardly believable all the same. I was also tempted to ask how you crashed a truck in a field, but I felt it was safer to just keep quiet.

"Caitlyn. _Caitlyn!"_

I blinked as a hand waved in front of my face. Dazedly I shook my head and then stared at Andrew sheepishly. "Wandered."

His face broadened into a grin. "My poor _mademoiselle un detresse._"

"Hey!" I exclaimed, glancing around and snatching for the object in Andrew's hand. He sidestepped me and smoothly wrapped an arm around my waist, catching me firmly.

I grunted, struggling. "Not here," I hissed. My eyes flashed upward as I ruthlessly stomped on his sandaled foot. I made sure it was not the one that had been shot.

He winced, but the smile never wavered. He bent his head. "But its so funny Caitlyn," he murmured.

I didn't like how close he was. It could be dangerous. When he was this close, I couldn't think. I struggled but he wasn't letting me go. "Is not," I retorted, closing my eyes. "People are _watching_."

"They already know who we are. No more gossip can come from this." He reminded me.

I curled my lower lip. "Andrew." I knew I sounded like I was whining, and I hated it, but sometimes it was the only thing left in my arsenal. It was a pitiful weapon, and I knew it. Andrew knew it too, his smile broadened.

He stepped away from me then, and held the object up. "Was this on the list?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "It's English."

Andrew rolled his eyes and turned the box around. "Better?" He knew perfectly well I could read English.

I squinted. "No, no better. I think that's Spanish."

His face scrunched up. "What?" he muttered, lifting the box up so he could read it, though his ability to read French was dismal, and his ability to read Spanish was non-existent.

It was the moment I was waiting for. I didn't hesitate. I spun around and dashed off. Andrew had the basket of things my Uncle needed, so I wasn't weighted down at all. I heard Andrew shout behind me and heard his feet against the worn down, and dirt smudged linoleum floor. I crashed into someone, muttered an apology and kept running.

I didn't quite know why I was playing such a childish game. I hadn't played chase since I was eight. This stupid relationship had done stupid things to me, I decided. I tried to placate myself mentally by telling myself that if I didn't get away, we'd be in the grocery store longer then I wanted. Andrew would keep distracting me, and holding me closer then I was comfortable in public.

I was sliding into a turn, hoping that the aisle I was choosing was the right one, when I caught sight of a woman from the corner of my eye. As if they had grown minds of their own, my heels dug in, stopping me dead. I lurched forward, barely keeping my balance, but my eyes never wavered.

There was a woman standing, so close and yet so far away from me. Her black hair was cut short, styled naturally I thought, into spikes. She was a tiny thing, a body a model would want, but I didn't desire. I was happy with my slimness I didn't need it go to extremes. She was dressed casually but something sniffed of expensive around her. She seemed aloof, and yet there.

My eyes widened, as they found hers. For a long moment, though in reality it was just a second, they locked. A look of something passed across her face. Was it recognition? It seemed that it was, though I could not remember seeing her before, and I wondered where such a look came from. Surely, I would remember if I had noticed a woman like her before?

Then Andrew was colliding into my back, and his arms wrapping around my waist so I would not fall. Our gazes were blocked, and I titled my head to meet Andrew's. "Klutz," I laughed.

"Coward," he muttered back. "Running away from me when I didn't do anything wrong."

I smiled, my hand over his. My eyes found their way to the mysterious woman again, and I stiffened. She was smiling now, and it lit up her whole face. Her eyes were shining.

"What is it?" Andrew asked.

How could he not have noticed her? She stood out, like a lighthouse on a lonely outcropping of rock.

"The woman," I said. "Does she seem...familiar to you?"

"Woman? What...oh her," Andrew said. He was silent for a moment, and then he moved into the aisle, tugging my hand as he went. "Stop staring. It's not polite. We've never met her before, I'm sure."

Something in his tone told me though that there was something there we should know, something that felt like the sweet tune of loss that we both felt when we were together. A song that said we were missing something, though we could never figure it out as we were blissfully content together, and neither of us wanted our time to end...even if it was only temporary.

Andrew tugged my hand again, and with a last look at the strange woman, I followed him down the aisle, realizing then that I had no idea where my Uncle's list was.

Neither of us would ever know that for one brief moment our paths had crossed with Alice Cullen. Neither of us would know that we had created a picture of heaven for her, and relieved a burden so great from her shoulders. And neither of us would even come to realize that she could have told us so much more about ourselves that we didn't realize.

But we didn't wait, and we didn't go to her. And it was better this way. We had a life, a life without vampires, without werewolves and without life-threatening problems. It was _our _life. Our normal one.

It was this normal life, that a man named Edward, had once wanted so bad for him and a girl named Bella.

And now they had it. Though neither of them remembered a time from the past, but nevertheless it was treasured, this life of theirs together, with no bounds holding them back.

* * *

_Well...this is the end. I hope everything makes sense now!! And I also hoped you enjoyed the story._


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